I will tell you that when you show me
The red stuff, oozing, leaking, or congealing,
I will look at the stains and not flinch,
I may feel helpless, I may check myself
To make sure everything crimson is in place,
But I will not look at away at it.
Yet, if you try to talk to me about it,
And start to give the humor a name,
My hands begin to lose feeling and I go weak,
It is worse when I read the word, blood,
In a sentence, a description, or listed
As a blank category for medical information
I wonder why the word and not the fluid
Threatens me, I could perform able surgery,
As long as no one uses the word
Or words like blood sugar or blood loss,
Keeping a steady, strong hand on a blade
As it cuts and human juices pulse out
Maybe “blood” just signifies too much,
Representing all blood to me, in amounts
Impossible for a single human to lose,
Meanwhile, the sight of blood is nothing to fear
Or get sick over, since I know
How much is lost and who has lost it.
Ben Nardolilli